Bondlock: Deductions & Technology
by IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: Greg, John and James have their Holmes Brothers Bitching Night. So Mycroft, Sherlock and Q will have their own night. Not that they want to, of course. But their partners are forcing them to spend time together, in the hopes that they'll stop fighting. Worse case scenario, they burn down 221B. See warnings inside.


**BONDLOCK**

**DEDUCTIONS & TECHNOLOGY**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Pairings: **Q/James Bond, Mycroft Holmes/Gregory Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

**Note: **The fifth story in the "Bondlock: Little Brother" series. The full list can be found on my profile page.

**Warnings: **References to sex, mild language, mild violence

**Disclaimers: **James Bond belongs to Ian Fleming and various other publishers/studios worldwide. Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steve Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

* * *

'This is going to end badly,' Q stated as he watched James get ready for his night out with Greg and John. The three men had become fast friends after they first met, and every time James was in London, he joined Greg and John for their "Holmes Brothers Bitching Night". He told Q time and time again that he rarely had anything bad to say about the Quartermaster, but Q had bugged his phone one night and discovered that there were a few things he did that James hated.

Stealing and bugging his phone was one of them.

Still, Q didn't mind. He knew his quirks could get annoying, and if James had fun with Greg and John, well... who was Q to tell him he couldn't go?

So, really, Q was completely fine with his boyfriend making friends with Greg and John. What he _wasn't _okay with was the three men conspiring together and deciding that Q and his brothers needed to spend quality time together.

It was a bad idea. It was such a very, very, _very _bad idea. Sherlock and Mycroft couldn't even spend two minutes together without throwing insults and threats at each other, and Q ended up shouting and messing with their electronics. If they were all forced into a room together, for an entire _night_, well... best case scenario, they sat in silence and glared at each other. Worst case scenario, they burned down 221B.

'Such a very, very bad idea,' Q muttered and shook his head.

James smiled as he turned, doing up his dress shirt.

'It's not a bad idea, Q,' the older man stated for what felt like the fiftieth time. Q had been complaining ever since John had suggested the idea. 'You and your brothers should spend some time together. Maybe then you'll stop fighting.'

Q raised both eyebrows. 'We only ever fight _when _we're together.'

'You had an hour-long argument with Sherlock yesterday over the phone,' James reminded his partner.

'I'm not going!' Q announced and proceeded to burrow under the blankets. James snickered as he watched, smoothing out his shirt, buttoning his cuffs, and eyeing the way Q's arse stuck out from under the blanket.

James let his Quartermaster get comfortable before he ripped the blankets free, smiling when Q yelped and hugged his pillow.

'James!' he whined. 'I don't wanna go.'

'Stop acting like a child and get dressed,' James said. 'We're going to be late.'

'Putting Mycroft, Sherlock and me in one room together, _alone_, is just asking for trouble!' Q insisted.

'Q...' James pointed at his wardrobe.

'Fine!' Q huffed. 'But if we burn something down, you only have yourself to blame!'

'Whatever you say, love,' James said, slapping Q's arse as the younger man walked past him.

Q punched him in the stomach.

{oOo}

'I hope you realise just how terrible this idea is,' Mycroft commented. He was pulling on his suit jacket, forgoing the matching waistcoat for once. Greg had tried to talk him into wearing jeans and a jumper, but Mycroft felt more comfortable- and in control- in a suit. Besides, Sherlock would tease him about his appearance no matter what he wore.

'Your complaints have been noted, and ignored,' Greg said. 'Now hurry up.'

Mycroft sighed but grabbed his umbrella and followed the older man out of their bedroom. They walked down the hallway together and Greg grabbed their coats from where they were folded over the kitchen counter.

'Stop looking so grumpy,' Greg commented.

Mycroft scowled at him. 'I'm not _grumpy_,' he denied, and Greg snorted. 'I just really, _really _don't want to spend the night at my brother's,' Mycroft continued. 'You _do _realise that we start arguing within three seconds of seeing each other, yes?'

'Quillan will be there,' Greg tried. 'He sounds a lot saner than you and Sherlock; he should be able to keep you both in line.'

'Oh, God,' Mycroft sighed. 'You underestimate my baby brother, you really do.'

Greg just raised an eyebrow as he opened the front door.

'Quillan gets along with people a lot better than Sherlock and I do, true,' Mycroft said, walking through the door and out into the hall. 'But he sill has social disorders and hates the general population. When he gets together with Sherlock and me, he regresses to the small child who enjoyed taking apart the fridge while his older brothers were arguing.'

'I'm sure it'll be fine,' Greg said as he locked the door.

'Don't blame me if Quillan blows up the fridge and Sherlock tries to feed him whatever he's growing on his kitchen table,' Mycroft said.

{oOo}

'I loathe you.'

John snorted from where he was cleaning up the rather large stack of case notes Sherlock had left across the coffee table. There hadn't been any interesting cases lately, so Greg had given Sherlock about ten cold cases to keep him busy. Sherlock had solved four already, and he'd only gotten them that morning.

'I really, really do,' Sherlock insisted. He was sulking on the sofa in his dressing gown, sweats, and one of John's shirts. He'd refused to change, stating that "they're my brothers, I'm not going to dress up for _them_". John was sure Mycroft and Quillan would understand.

'I know you do, love,' he quipped, and noticed Sherlock's scowl darkening. 'It's just one night, Sherlock,' John rolled his eyes. 'We know better than to make you all go out in public together. At least here there aren't any people to scare.'

'And no witnesses to see me murder Mycroft,' Sherlock muttered.

John shook his head and put all of Sherlock's cold cases into neat piles on his work table. 'Just... have a chat, some tea, and watch the telly,' he suggested. 'Or play chess.'

'I can't play chess with Mycroft,' Sherlock said.

'Does he always win?' John asked, and grinned when Sherlock pouted. 'Play with Quillan, then.'

'Mycroft will sit in the corner and call out reasons why the moves we just made are stupid or will win us the game,' the genius said. 'I refuse!'

'You refuse a lot, don't you?' John snickered.

'I thought you loved me!' Sherlock whined. 'Why are you doing this to me?'

'Greg and James thought it was a good idea, too,' John pointed out.

'Idiots!'

The doctor sighed. 'Just _try_, Sherlock,' he said. 'For me?'

Sherlock flopped dramatically across the sofa, ignoring the older man. John gave up and finished straightening everything. The flat had been nice and neat- well, as neat as 221B ever got with Sherlock Holmes living there- before said genius decided to mess it up an hour earlier. He probably thought that Mycroft and Quillan would just leave if the flat was too disgusting. Mycroft had seen Sherlock in worse, though, and John was assuming that Quillan had too.

John had just finished tossing Sherlock's dirty clothes in the bedroom when there was a knock on the front door. He walked through the kitchen and into the sitting room, seeing that Sherlock hadn't moved an inch from the sofa.

John rolled his eyes and went to the front door- amazingly closed, for once- and pulled it open. Greg and James had arrived within minutes of each other, and both smiled as John led them in. Their Holmeses were clearly sulking; Mycroft's face was completely blank, and Quillan had a pout that could rival Sherlock's on his boyish face.

'You look like a five-year-old, Q,' James commented, and earned himself a punch to the chest that made him wince.

'Shut it, or I swear to God I'll change your ringtone again!' Q threatened.

Greg and John both looked at the double-oh, who grimaced and said, 'He changed my ringtone, notification sound, _and _my alarm clock to something called Justin Bleeber.'

'Bieber, James, Justin _Bieber_,' Q corrected. 'And next time it'll be One Direction!'

John had no idea what a One Direction was- and a quick look around the room told him that nobody but Q did- but James wisely just nodded and kissed Q on the cheek.

'So,' Greg clapped his hands together. 'Ready to go, John?'

'Yeah, just let me grab my coat,' John said and went to get it from his armchair. 'Sherlock, behave!' he pointed at his boyfriend.

'I refuse!' Sherlock snapped and rolled over, turning his back on the group.

'Well, this is going to be a lovely evening,' Mycroft drawled.

'Be nice, Myc,' Greg said and kissed the taller man on the cheek. 'I'll reward you later, okay?'

Q grimaced at that, but Mycroft smiled brightly. The three couples said their goodbyes- with each Holmes still pouting and asking if they could leave- before suddenly John, Greg and James were gone, leaving the three brothers alone.

Silence descended; Mycroft fiddled with his umbrella, Sherlock was still facing the back of the sofa, and Q wondered if he could update the rather archaic television sitting in the corner.

'So this is what hell looks like,' Q muttered.

Mycroft nodded in agreement and Sherlock groaned.

{oOo}

'If one of them murders another, will I have to arrest them?' Greg asked as they settled into the taxi.

'I'm not sure you can arrest the British Government,' John commented. 'And Sherlock probably wouldn't leave any evidence.'

'Q would just... disappear, I think,' James said.

'Right,' Greg nodded. 'And what if they team up and decide to murder _us _for making them spend one evening together?'

James chuckled, and John said, 'Do you _really _think the three of them can work together long enough to plan our murders?'

Greg laughed. 'No, probably not.'

'They'll be fine,' James shrugged. 'Let's focus on having fun, shall we?'

'Oh God, I hope Sherlock doesn't try to make them eat jam,' John said. 'Did I tell you that he took my brand new, edible jam, and stuck eyes in it?'

'First round's on John!' Greg cheered, and James laughed. The cab driver looked thoroughly disturbed.

{oOo}

'What are you doing?' Sherlock demanded when he noticed Q standing before the mantel.

'Stealing your skull,' Q said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sherlock scowled. 'Leave Douglas alone.'

'Douglas?' Q snorted.

'I thought it was Victor?' Mycroft asked. He was sitting in John's arm chair, sipping a fresh cup of Earl Grey. Tea was the only edible thing in 221B at the moment; everything else was out of date or had become part of one of Sherlock's experiments.

'It was Victor _last week_, Mycroft,' Sherlock scoffed. '_Do _keep up.'

Mycroft rolled his eyes and took another gulp of tea.

'What are you doing, Quillan?' Sherlock asked again, finally sitting up and staring at his younger brother.

'I'm putting some music on,' Q said. 'If I'm going to suffer with you two- and _no _computer- then I'm going to do it listening to music.'

'I don't own a CD player,' Sherlock said.

Q turned to glare at him. 'Who uses CDs anymore?' Sherlock stuck his middle finger up, and Mycroft sighed.

'Can't we at least act like adults?' he asked.

'Shut up, Mycroft!' the two younger brothers snapped, and Mycroft scowled.

'I brought my iPod and some speakers my department's been working on,' Q said as he set everything up. 'They're smaller and better than anything else on the market.'

'Do they explode?' Sherlock asked, looking intrigued, but he huffed when Q shook his head. 'What good is Q-Branch when they don't make something that explodes?'

'We don't just make exploding equipment, Sherlock,' Q muttered. 'We make guns, lock picking sets disguised as every day objects, communication devices-'

'Dull,' Sherlock interrupted. His face scrunched up when music finally started playing from Q's iPod. 'What the hell is that?'

'_The Phoenix_ by Fall Out Boy,' Q said. 'From their new album.'

'And what, may I ask, is a Fall Out Boy?' Mycroft questioned.

Q rolled his eyes. 'A band, Mycroft,' he said. 'Not that you'd know good music if it bit you in the arse.'

'And this is good music?' Mycroft asked, one eyebrow going up.

'Yes,' Q insisted.

'It sounds like crap,' Sherlock said from where he was perched on the back of the sofa. When he'd done that, Q had no idea; Sherlock's long legs were stretched before him, head pressed to the wallpaper, and he was picking at the t-shirt he was wearing.

'Something we can finally agree on, brother!' Mycroft commented. He toasted Sherlock with his mug of Earl Grey, and Sherlock snickered as Q scowled at the both of them.

'I don't know what I hate more,' Q stated. 'When you two get along, or when you try to rip each other's throats out.'

'You love us, Quillan,' Sherlock smirked.

'Don't deny it,' Mycroft added.

'I hate you both,' the younger man said, shaking his head. 'So very, very much.' He turned back towards his iPod. 'And because you're both ganging up on me, I'm going to turn Fall Out Boy up.'

'Don't!' Mycroft and Sherlock both groaned, but Q ignored them. He swiped his thumb along his iPod Touch and didn't stop until Patrick Stump was all he could hear.

Of course, that meant that he couldn't hear Sherlock sneaking up on him. Q shrieked- though he'd _definitely _deny it if asked- when strong arms wrapped around his waist and hauled him up. He assumed it was Sherlock, since Mycroft appeared at the iPod, turning the music down quickly.

'Sherly, put me down!' Q shouted.

'Don't call me Sherly,' Sherlock grunted. Q was squirming and trying to break free, but Sherlock was both taller and stronger, _and _had years of practice picking his brother up.

'Sherlock!' Q snapped. 'I swear to the gods, I will destroy you!'

Sherlock just laughed and tossed the Quartermaster on the sofa. Q bounced, his glasses coming off and hitting the cushions. He scowled as he hunted for them.

'The next case you're on, just see how many red lights you get!' Q snarled as he put his glasses back on.

'Come now, baby brother,' Sherlock grinned, 'don't be like that.'

'Oh look, he still listens to Green Day,' Mycroft commented from the mantel.

Q tried to leap to his feet, but Sherlock easily tossed him back onto the sofa. 'Mycroft, leave my iPod alone!' Q shouted.

Mycroft smiled in amusement as he continued going through the bands on Q's iPod.

'Haven't you grown out of your emo phase yet?' Sherlock questioned.

'Green Day isn't _emo_,' Q scowled. 'How do you even know what emo is?'

Sherlock's grin widened.

'My Chemical Romance,' Mycroft hummed.

'They're not emo either!' Q snapped.

The elder Holmes rolled his eyes and continued swiping at his brother's iPod. 'Oh, look; Bond,' Mycroft said. 'Something we can all agree to listen to.' He tapped at the screen, and a soft song started playing from the speakers.

'Bond?' Sherlock questioned, frowning. 'What does he have to do with music?'

Q rolled his eyes. 'He's talking about _Bond_, the string quartet band,' he said. 'Not Bond, the double-oh agent. _Do _keep up, Sherly.'

Sherlock scowled and turned to face his younger sibling.

Q knew that look and he narrowed his eyes, raising both hands. 'Now, Sherlock, let's be reasonable about this.'

'I'm afraid there's only one thing I can do, Quillan,' Sherlock replied and stepped closer.

'No,' Q tried to back up, but he had nowhere to go. 'We're all adults, Sherlock, let's just discuss this like the mature people we are!'

'I'm afraid I can't,' Sherlock said and pounced. Q shouted as Sherlock's fingers dug under his armpits, and he kicked, slapped, and tried to bite his way to freedom.

But Sherlock knew what he was doing, and easily evaded his brother's flailing limbs as he tickled Q until he was crying.

'Sherlock- ahaha- s-s-stop!' Q screamed. 'Mercy, mercy! Ahaha- I'll fucking kill you!'

Sherlock didn't let up, continuing to tickle Q, even when his glasses fell to the floor and he started gaping for breath.

'I suppose I have to play mediator,' Mycroft sighed. He didn't move, though, and chuckled when Q kicked Sherlock in the abdomen.

'You little bastard!' Sherlock groaned and clutched his stomach.

'Just try and tickle me again, I dare you!' Q replied, gasping for breath

Mycroft smiled and sipped his tea.

{oOo}

'Do you think they're okay?' John asked.

'I'm sure they're fine,' Greg waved a dismissive hand. 'Stop worrying about them.'

'Q can handle himself,' James said, '_and_ he can handle his brothers.'

'I'm not sure about that,' John said, but shrugged when the other two looked at him. 'Fine, fine,' he sighed. 'But if they set fire-'

'_John_,' James and Greg moaned together.

'You're buying the next round,' Greg pointed a finger at the younger man.

'And I want a bourbon if I'm going to listen to anymore of Sherlock's kinks,' James added. 'There are just some things I really don't need to know about him.'

'Fine,' John repeated and stood. 'I hate you both, by the way,' he added as he walked away from the table.

'We love you too!' Greg called and James laughed. The DI turned back to the older man. 'They'll be fine, right?' he asked.

'I'm sure they're just bickering,' James said. 'Stop worrying.'

Greg nodded and downed the rest of his beer.

{oOo}

Mycroft and Sherlock were sitting on the sofa arguing again. Q had no idea what it was this time, so he made a hasty escape into the kitchen. He didn't want to know what Sherlock was growing on the table, either, so he decided to play with the microwave. He'd taken apart Mycroft's the last time he'd been at his eldest brother's flat, so figured he'd do the same thing to Sherlock's. Who didn't want a frozen steak to defrost in twenty seconds?

'No, give me that!' Sherlock shouted, but Mycroft expertly pushed his brother back onto the sofa. He hated legwork, yes, but that didn't mean he hadn't done his fair share in his younger years. He hadn't gotten to where he was by sitting back and letting others do absolutely everything for him, after all.

Mycroft tripped Sherlock again and the brunette went sprawling across the sofa, muttering curses under his breath. Mycroft set his tea on the coffee table and flipped open one of the cold cases Greg had given Sherlock; one that Sherlock hadn't yet solved, despite the consulting detective's best efforts.

'Oh, Sherlock, _really_?' Mycroft tisked as he scanned the first page. 'If was the wife's sister.'

'Mycroft, give them back!' Sherlock demanded and tugged at Mycroft's jacket, trying to make the taller man trip. Mycroft pushed Sherlock back with his free hand and Sherlock swore again. 'Mycroft!'

Tossing the first file aside, Mycroft opened the second. 'Hmm,' he murmured as he flicked through the pages. 'The eldest child was jealous of the youngest, so he let her drown in the bathtub,' Mycroft sighed. 'How unfortunate.'

'_Mycroft_!'

'Sherlock, would you shut up!' Q shouted from the kitchen.

'Stay out of this, Quillan!' Sherlock snapped and launched himself at Mycroft.

Mycroft swiftly placed the folders on the coffee table, wrapped an arm around Sherlock, and tipped him onto John's armchair.

Sherlock groaned as his head smacked into the arm of the chair, and glared at his older brother through his messy curls.

'Let's not try that again, hmm?' Mycroft smirked and grabbed the files.

'Mycroft,' Sherlock groaned. 'I hate you, you fat bastard!'

'The assistant killed her,' was Mycroft's response, and he tossed the file at Sherlock. 'Now, let's see...'

Try as he might, Sherlock couldn't get the cold cases off of Mycroft. Mycroft, despite what Sherlock said, wasn't fat; he was actually rather healthy and quick. And, with his training, it was easy to throw Sherlock clear and evade him. Sherlock even tried to bite his brother, but Mycroft tugged on his curls and sent him to the corner, hissing and spitting.

'You're like a hyperactive cat,' Mycroft commented, eyes not moving from the newest file he'd opened.

'I hate you!' Sherlock groaned.

There was a crash from the kitchen, and both brothers turned.

'I'm okay!' Q shouted.

'What are you doing?' Sherlock demanded.

'Nothing,' Q answered, voice muffled. 'Go back to your arguing.'

'We're not arguing,' Mycroft commented. 'Sherlock's acting like a child.'

'You're a child!' Sherlock retorted.

'It was the babysitter,' Mycroft said, brandishing the file in Sherlock's direction.

Sherlock threw himself at the older man and made grabby motions for the file. Mycroft tipped him onto his work bench and Sherlock groaned.

There was another crash from the kitchen.

'I'm okay!' Q repeated.

{oOo}

'Sometimes I love Mycroft,' John murmured as he fell into the back car the elder Holmes had sent to collect them. It wasn't too late, only about eleven, but all three men had had enough alcohol to leave them pleasantly buzzed.

'You've got your own Holmes,' Greg told him. 'Mycroft's mine, got it?'

'Like I want him,' John wrinkled his nose and James laughed. They all made themselves comfortable and the car pulled into traffic, the driver heading towards 221B Baker Street. 'Do you reckon they've set something on fire yet?' John asked suddenly.

'Why do you think they're gonna start a fire?' James asked. 'I mean, Q's started his fair share in R&D, but still...'

'Mycroft and Sherlock can't _not _fight and destroy things,' the doctor said. 'I bet they've started a fire.'

'Would you relax,' Greg rolled his eyes.

'It's not _your _flat that's in danger!' John snapped.

'Mycroft'll pay for any damages,' Greg said.

'I'm sure everything's fine,' James added.

'We'll see,' John murmured.

{oOo}

'Quillan?' Mycroft called.

Q didn't look up from what he was doing to Sherlock's phone. 'What is it?'

'Did you do something to the microwave?' Mycroft asked.

'Yes,' Q said. He was sitting on the sofa beside Sherlock, having finished with the microwave. Sherlock's clothes and hair were all over the place, and he had a bruise forming over his right cheekbone from the second time Mycroft had thrown him onto the coffee table. Thankfully, Mycroft had quickly solved all the cold case files, and Sherlock had given up trying to beat his eldest sibling up.

'I see,' Mycroft hummed.

'Mycroft, shut up!' Sherlock snapped. 'Quillan's doing something to my phone that'll allow me to access the GPS in John's mobile. Next time he gets kidnapped, I'll be able to find him easily on my own.'

'I see,' Mycroft repeated.

'What is it?' Q asked again, detecting a hint of amusement in Mycroft's voice, as well as that air of "I told you so" his eldest brother seemed to radiate whenever he was right.

'The microwave is on fire,' Mycroft stated, and Sherlock and Q's heads both snapped up. Mycroft was leaning against the archway between the sitting room and kitchen, sipping a fresh mug of tea and looking at the small fire that had started.

Sherlock swore and leapt to his feet, while Q followed slowly. He blinked rapidly when he saw the flames.

'Why didn't you put it out?' Sherlock demanded. He grabbed a fire extinguisher from beside the oven and stepped towards the fire.

'I didn't start it,' Mycroft shrugged, 'it was Quillan. And it's _your _microwave; one of you put it out.'

'I hate you!' Sherlock shouted, but sprayed the fire anyway.

'I told James this would happen,' Q groaned and put his face in his hands.

'I thought you were _good _with technology,' Mycroft commented.

'Shut up, Mycroft!' his siblings snapped in unison.

Mycroft just laughed.

{oOo}

James, Greg and John entered 221B together, laughing about something and reeking of alcohol and cheap cologne. Sherlock wrinkled his nose but got up anyway, wrapping his arms around John and pulling him into a heated kiss. Q leapt to his feet and started tugging James back towards the door.

'Wait, Q, what's the rush?' the double-oh asked as he was pushed back out of the flat.

'No rush, I'm just... horny!' Q said, grinning widely. 'Let's go fuck.'

'Good idea,' Mycroft said and wrapped an arm around Greg's waist. 'Gregory, after you,' he said, nudging his partner.

'Whoa, easy,' Greg said. 'What's going on?'

John finally managed to rip his lips away from Sherlock's and blinked hazily at the taller man. 'Uh, Sherlock...' he licked his lips and frowned. 'What did you do?' he asked, eyeing Sherlock suspiciously.

Sherlock froze before a smile quickly took over his face. 'Me? Nothing, I didn't do anything, John. Absolutely nothing, not a _thing_.'

John's eyes narrowed. 'What did you do?' he repeated.

'I swear to God, I didn't do anything,' Sherlock insisted.

'You're acting weird,' John said, 'and your brothers are, too.'

'Yeah, what's going on?' Greg asked again from where Mycroft was trying to force him past James and Q. James had successfully stopped Q from pushing him out the door, his hands pressed against the door-frame either side of him, and Q was groaning as he slapped James in the stomach.

'Sherlock?' John demanded.

Silence descended as the three brothers all stared at each other. Q broke first.

'It was Mycroft's fault!'

'Me?' Mycroft demanded. 'You're the one who took the microwave apart!'

'Because you and Sherlock were arguing again!' Q shouted.

'Then it's Sherlock's fault,' Mycroft said. 'He started the argument.'

'I only started the argument because you said I was an idiot for not having solved my cold cases yet!' Sherlock snapped. 'And then you bloody solved them!'

Greg blinked rapidly. 'Wait, you solved all the cold cases I gave Sherlock?' he questioned. 'There were ten there!'

'Six,' Mycroft corrected before smiling. 'It was child's play, really.'

'What happened to the microwave?' John demanded.

Q gnawed on his bottom lip and James folded his arms. 'Q?' he asked.

'I thought I put it back together properly!' Q insisted. 'I think there was too much power and it melted some of the parts I took from the toaster.'

'What'd you do to my toaster?' John demanded. 'I _just _replaced it after Sherlock tried to cook pancakes!'

'You tried to cook pancakes in a toaster?' Mycroft asked, amused. 'Well, cooking was never a talent of yours.'

'Shut up, Mycroft!' Sherlock snapped.

'Don't start fighting again!' Q threw his hands in the air.

'Like you're any better!' Sherlock growled at his little brother.

'Leave Quillan alone,' Mycroft scowled.

The three Holmes brothers descended into arguing again, with Q tugging at his hair, Mycroft poking his siblings with his umbrella, and Sherlock stamping his foot.

James, Greg and John just stared for a few seconds, not quite sure what to do.

It was with a sigh that James moved first. He grabbed Q around the waist and easily hauled the younger man over his shoulder.

'James!' Q shrieked.

'Come on, Q,' James said and turned to the door.

'Put me down this instant!' Q shouted. 'That's an order from your Quartermaster, 007!'

'John, I'll pay you back for the microwave,' James called over his shoulder. 'And any other damage there might be.'

'Right,' John sighed. 'See you later, James.'

James waved and disappeared down the stairs, Q shouting about pink guns of doom. Mycroft and Sherlock hadn't stopped their argument, and Greg shook his head.

'Let me know if Mycroft broke anything or drank all the tea; I'll replace it,' Greg said. He grabbed Mycroft's hand. 'Come on, love.'

'I'm not done with you!' Sherlock shouted after his brother.

'Gregory, I can walk by myself, thank you very much!' Mycroft snapped.

'Yeah, yeah,' Greg muttered and slammed the door shut behind them.

The flat was suddenly silent, Sherlock glaring at the door, John rubbing his eyes. The doctor sighed and looked up at the ceiling. 'Why?' he questioned.

'Why what?' Sherlock asked. John scowled at him. 'I told you this would be bad idea,' Sherlock insisted, 'but nobody would listen! Even Mycroft and Quillan agreed with me.'

John just shook his head and turned. 'I'm going to bed.'

Sherlock stared after him. He wondered if he had to sleep on the sofa, or in John's old room. It wasn't _his _fault that Quillan had set the microwave on fire. And it wasn't his fault that Mycroft had solved all his cold cases, leaving Sherlock with nothing to do but argue. It definitely wasn't his fault that Mycroft and Quillan had drank all of John's Earl Grey; he'd told them not to.

'Are you coming?' John shouted from the bedroom.

Sherlock raced through the kitchen and down the hallway.

'I'll deal with you tomorrow,' John grumbled as he climbed into bed. Sherlock pulled his dressing gown off and jumped into bed, huddling under the covers and against John. The shorter man sighed and rolled over. He pulled Sherlock against him and pressed his nose into Sherlock's curls. 'I hate you Holmeses,' he muttered.

'But you _love _me,' Sherlock said. 'And it was my brothers' faults, they-'

'Don't start,' John interrupted.

'But-'

'_No_.'

'John!'

'Go to bed,' John insisted.

Sherlock pouted but obediently closed his eyes and curled further into his boyfriend.

After a few minutes of silence, Sherlock muttered, 'I told you it would be a bad idea.'

John thumped him with a pillow.

* * *

{THE END}

* * *

**Author's Note: **Because throwing the Holmes brothers together and expecting nothing to go wrong is just plain silly. Fun to write, though. So I hope you enjoyed :]

Cheers,

{IBegToDreamAndDiffer}


End file.
